


Poor Table Manners

by neptunedemon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Boyfriends in love, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Orgasm Control, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:54:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14372337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neptunedemon/pseuds/neptunedemon
Summary: "What have we become?"Otabek tilts his head to the side. "I don't think I'm following you, dear."Yuri cringes. "Exactly." He takes a deep breath as if about to deliver some serious, hard news.  "Otabek, I just watched you make a cheese platter."... Oh.Well.Otabek smirks. "Is that not hot to you?"Yuri dramatizes a shudder. "I think it is, which is the scariest thing of all."--Yuri and Otabek are hosting a dinner for their friends.They freak out.





	Poor Table Manners

"Does this look how a salad should look?" Yuri asks Otabek, pushing a glass bowl in front of him. "Or is it like... wrong somehow?"

Otabek glances down at the jumble of romaine and vegetables. He smiles at Yuri.

"That's definitely how a salad should look," he promises, as if anyone knows.

"Great!"

Yuri grabs pulls two olive oil based dressings from the fridge and carries the salad off to the dining room.

They’re at the apartment they’ve had together for four months now.

Viktor and Yuuri are stopping by in about an hour, and eventually Chris and Phichit will be dropping in too, both visiting the city for a week.

This will be the first dinner Otabek and Yuri host in their apartment, a quaint little place a few flights above the snowy streets. Everyone was extremely excited by the proposition of seeing their new place. Their “habitat,” as Chris had put it. Otabek looks around at their kitchen cabinets, the drying rack full of clean dishes by the sink, the shelf for spices they’d put in a week ago. He wasn’t sure what they were expecting.

Yuri pops back into the kitchen as Otabek places the last of the cheeses onto a plate next to some crackers. The cracker box they’d come in promised were the _fancy_ kind of crackers.

His forehead creases a moment as if he's confused by something, but whatever thought Yuri has is quickly shaken away.

He walks - almost prances, honestly - to the oven and checks the timer, pushing hair that's fallen into his face back. It only falls back yet again, as always. Otabek smothers a fond grin.

"Food will be done twenty minutes after they get here," Yuri says.

Otabek nods. "Perfect." He lifts the cheese tray and takes it to their dining room.

The whole place is set up well, with wine glasses next to water glasses beside little white plates with salad bowls on top. There is a pitcher of water on the table beside a bottle of chardonnay and a bottle of cabernet.

Yuri follows Otabek in with a wine opener and starts uncorking one of them. They don’t really need to open them yet, Otabek thinks, but doesn’t say anything.

Yuri is biting his lower lip and that thoughtful look is back. Otabek thinks maybe he's anxious for the wait between now and their guests arriving, so he tries to distract him with another task.

"Should we bring out candles?"

Yuri pours wine into a glass, eyes distant. He takes a drink before finally answering, "I think we can leave those out."

"You okay, Yura?"

Yuri's eyes level with him.

They’re subtly wild, like he’s debating something. He takes yet another drink of wine, downing the glass - he definitely doesn't seem to be just taste-testing it.

Otabek almost jumps as Yuri suddenly slams his emptied glass on the table. "What the fuck is this?" He gestures at the display.

Otabek opens his mouth, then closes it. He has no idea what Yuri is referring to, but Yuri continues.

"What have we become?"

Otabek tilts his head to the side. "I don't think I'm following you, dear."

Yuri cringes. "Exactly." He takes a deep breath as if about to deliver some serious, hard news.

"Otabek, I just watched you make a cheese platter."

... Oh.

Well.

Otabek smirks. "Is that not hot to you?"

Yuri dramatizes a shudder. "I think it is, which is the scariest thing of all."

He moves the open wine bottle to a cabinet top beside their table, then turns to face Otabek, chin raised. He stares like he’s trying to communicate something, but Otabek doesn’t want to jump to conclusions quite yet. Plus - he glances the clock on the wall - their friends are due in less than an hour now.

Otabek is about to make a teasing remark when Yuri grabs his hands and pulls him in. He puts one hand to his ass, the other he clutches tight. His face is only just beginning to redden as he buries it in Otabek’s shoulder.

“Fuck me, Otabek,” he pleads from where he hides.

Otabek’s words dip low rather than become things that can be voiced; he’s stuck with his mouth part way open.

Yuri abuses the silence and rolls his hips into him, and Otabek might die already. He grips the top of Yuri’s pants and his knuckles graze hip bone.

“Fuck me into the fucking table for all I care.”

“Yuri,” Otabek murmurs against his neck. “We can’t actually on the -”

His breath hitches as he feels Yuri bite briefly but sharply into his shoulder, through his shirt.

He whines, “Don’t say that! Just - just -” He’s stuttering, flushing warm against Otabek, and something loosens in Otabek as the mixture of desire and love he has for Yuri shoves its way past everything else to arrive at the forefront of his mind.

So Yuri doesn’t have to finish his stammer, because Otabek is suddenly pushing him back into the table. It scoots back an inch, a glass rolls off and actually shatters somewhere on their wood paneled floor, and they ignore it.

His mouth is on Yuri’s like he’s kissing him heavily for the first time. Yuri’s gasp of surprise becomes a pleased moan, and he hikes himself up onto the table and wraps his legs around Otabek’s waist.

Otabek’s got this sudden insatiable need to tear into Yuri. Yuri so fucking easily triggered this in him and he can hardly believe it.

They have plenty of sex - but Otabek realizes now that it IS that domestic, 9pm between Thursday and Saturday sex.

This - he’s living for this. He missed this irresponsible thrill, where he most certainly would’ve realized they hadn’t even dressed properly for their dinner yet if Yuri wasn’t gasping and clawing at him from underneath, hitching his hips into him. Murmuring his beg to be fucked against his lips, to be reminded of what it was like to be bad.

Also, it was early evening on a Tuesday.

Yes, this certainly felt right.

They really couldn’t fuck on the table, though.

“Come here,” Otabek breathes against Yuri’s mouth. He tries to pull him away, but Yuri shakes his head.

“Nooo,” he whines and takes Otabek’s hand again. He presses it firm against his cock through his pants, and he’s so fucking hard already, Otabek’s knees go weak. He grips Yuri’s waist with his other hand. 

“I don’t want to move,” he says, green eyes half-lidded and pleading. He wiggles his ass against the table. “Please, Beka.”

Oh, damn. Otabek closes his eyes a moment to gather himself. _Only_ for a moment.

He opens his eyes.

“Well then you better listen to me,” he says lowly, letting threat seep into his voice. He catches Yuri’s brief but victorious grin before he grabs his hips to pull him from the table surface and turn him around.

He steps flush against him, pressing his hips into Yuri from behind and letting a hand slip under his shirt.

Yuri goes from gasping to saying, “Wait,” and sanity has crept back into his voice. He’s looking ahead at the open curtains of their dining room.

“Should we—“

“Leave them open,” Otabek interrupts because he’s already thought about it. Let the whole world fucking know.

Before Yuri can answer, Otabek is sliding a hand up his shirt and twisting a nipple between his fingers.

Yuri jerks back into him with a gasp, his head falling back onto Otabek’s shoulder; he’s so lovely and strong, and so quick to crumble. He kisses where he can reach Yuri’s throat, lowering his hands to the front of Yuri’s pants. He begins to undo them.

“You’re honestly so bad,” he comments. Yuri whimpers something incoherently and shifts his hips so that Otabek can tug down everything he’s wearing below his waist. He continues, “For wanting to fuck where our friends are going to be eating.”

“Yeah?” Yuri swallows hard, his whole body rolling against him. He steps out of his clothes, kicks them somewhere.

“Mhm,” Otabek hums. And then he turns Yuri back around, much to Yuri’s surprise, though he goes with him limply.

“Fuck, Yuri,” he breathes when he has sight of his boyfriend. He doesn’t know how or when Yuri got this aroused, to the point that he’s barely getting a firm grip on the table, his hardened cock between them begging to be touched. But it doesn’t matter.

Otabek wants to spout compliments but he can do that later, in the night, in their bed, against his hair and into his ear - right now, though -

He sinks to his knees and Yuri is already breathing heavily without touch. Otabek smirks up at him, admiring him so fucking fully, and _god_ they shouldn’t do this here. But the table juts back as Otabek wraps his lips around Yuri, and the sound is somehow thrilling. Like if he can get Yuri to shove the table into the wall and knock all the dishes off, he will have won.

“Beka,” Yuri sighs, and for a moment he’s liquid beneath him. Then Otabek takes him deeper and Yuri tightens and hisses, a hand going into his own hair.

Otabek’s hand strokes at the base of his cock until he can swallow him down fully, and Yuri is a mess between him and the table. He’s got a hand in Otabek’s hair now, and because he’s so damn gone somehow, Yuri barely fights the forward hitch of his hips, but Otabek holds him down with firm hands. Yuri whines something maddening.

Otabek can barely stand the tight press of his own cock in his jeans much more than he can stand the urge to just suck Yuri off fast, because he knows he could - he could make him come hot and fast into his throat and could tease him for days on being so delectably easy tonight. It’s so hard not to when he watches Yuri bite down a little more on his lip each time he hits the back of Otabek’s throat.

But that isn’t really in the books this time.

So he pulls off, mournfully, and Yuri lets out a breath in relief - maybe he was closer to finishing than Otabek had even realized.

He wipes his mouth as he rises from the floor, and Yuri can’t even look at him. His face is flushed, his forehead sweaty, his hair in disarray from his own hands twining through it. He’s almost fucking panting.

“God damn, Yuri,” Otabek says, idly aware he’s beginning to repeat himself, but he’s so speechless at the sight of him.

He pulls him in for a kiss. It’s full mouthed, and Yuri’s lips are loose and soft. He feels dreamy, but then his hands are clutching Otabek’s clothes with rough, greedy tugs.

Otabek slips his tongue into his mouth, forcing Yuri to taste himself and Yuri doesn’t hesitate - he moans and sucks, and Otabek loses his mind.

He grabs Yuri again and spins him around. Once more, he’s facing the table, and Otabek is undoing the front of his own jeans when he stops and frowns. “Ugh,” he grumbles.

Yuri hums his question.

“We need - shit.”

“Ah,” Yuri nods. “In the, uh, living room -“

“Oh right,” Otabek remembers. “From that time we...” His voice trails off a moment. Then he continues, “When we were having Yuuri and Viktor over later and you wanted to... _Yuri_.”

Yuri smirks, failing to look bashful.

God, he doesn’t want to leave him for a second.  He reaches out, hesitates and retracts his hands. “Don’t fucking move,” he mutters and flees to the living room. Hardly looking, he digs in the drawer of their side table and grabs what’s there.

Yuri’s hand moves away from himself quickly the moment he emerges.

“ _Hey_ ,” Otabek quips, and Yuri sneers into the table.

“You're taking forever,” he says, a grin heavy in his voice. Otabek is back behind him, and he takes Yuri’s hands and places them each on the table before them.

“I told you to listen,” he whispers briefly into the fall of Yuri’s hair on his shoulders. Then he pushes his back down so that he’s bent over. Yuri doesn’t respond, just lightly gasps.

Otabek draws back to pull his cock out at last.

He rolls the condom on, admiring the way Yuri’s shirt falls shoved up around his back, how his ass looks waiting for him, and he aches to reach around and feel Yuri’s cock again, thick and wanting.

“Dammit Otabek, hurry,” he grumbles, and Otabek knows he’s _trying_ to get in trouble now.

Otabek presses forward and brings his hand around Yuri to put his first two fingers in his mouth.

Yuri immediately and hungrily swallows around them, the sound a lewd suck, and then he does suck on them, tongue grazing across the pads of each and sending a vibrato straight to Otabek’s dick.

He pushes his fingers in deeper and presses himself to Yuri’s ass so that they can feel each other for just a moment.

When he pulls his fingers from Yuri’s mouth, he seems to almost chase them before settling back into Otabek’s hold on him, like he’s remembering what’s next.

Otabek reaches down and feels Yuri tense slightly before he pushes his fingers inside him; Yuri jerks down with a whimper.

“You want it bad tonight, dear,” he teases. He isn’t fooling anyone though. His own voice comes out strained and drunk with lust.

He distantly remembers they’re about to fuck on their table, with open curtains facing the street, and he just wants to get there, to be fucking into Yuri so hard where they should never fuck.

He puts in a third finger and Yuri’s breath hitches. Otabek curls them, Yuri shudders.

Fuck, yes.

“God, I don’t need this,” Yuri growls. He jerks down, sitting back deeper onto Otabek’s fingers. Despite his complaint, his voice still shakes when he says, “Fuck me, dammit.”

Otabek nearly loses his breath at the headiness in Yuri’s request, but he stays inside him a little bit longer, wanting to be sure despite Yuri’s eager insistence.

When he does take back his hand, he resents the seconds it takes to use the lube, but every moment not touching Yuri is worth it once he’s pushing inside him.

“Agh!” Yuri puts more of his weight on the table, his legs spreading wider across the floor. The table scoots again, and a glass clings onto its nearby plate.

“Otabek,” Yuri pleads. Otabek is wincing against his own overcome body though.

Yuri is so hot around him, and he’s always tight but Yuri’s always coasting up and down on emotions and energy and his body clenches up and relaxes at moments Otabek isn’t prepared for.

He pulls out a little, pushes back in, and Yuri’s back curls.

Otabek doesn’t wait to wrap his hand around Yuri’s cock once he’s found them a rhythm, because he has a proposition.

“I wasn’t kidding that you’re bad for wanting to do this here,” he says. He strokes along his cock, again and again, and Yuri can’t answer through his heavy breaths.

He tries to tell him _something_ , though.

“Otabek, I’m-“

“So you don’t come until I say you can.”

With that, he halts his stroking at the base of Yuri’s cock and grips him there. He keeps hitting into him though, deep and pleasant.

“Ota-“ Yuri has the last part of his name choked out.

“You better not, Yuri,” he warns, thrusts into him, feels him loosen with the effort to relax and fend off his orgasm.

“I can’t,” his voice trembles.

Otabek shifts how he holds his cock, and Yuri’s gasp is half a yell. He tries not to let that distract him and chides instead, “You have too.”

“N-no-“

It’s agony to do so, but Otabek stops fucking into him. He keeps himself deep inside Yuri, so blessedly deep - and without warning, he drags Yuri back into full, wet strokes.

Yuri’s head falls forward and his body clenches up. It makes Otabek bite his lip.

“What the fuck,” Yuri rasps, nails dragging at the fabric of their tablecloth. “I- Beka, I can't-“

He starts his thrusts into him again.

“Come then,” he allows.

Originally he thought he’d turn Yuri around and have him come between and on them, but it seems like he forgot. Yuri yells some form of Otabek’s name as he comes on their table, with their fucking plates set up and their moments-ago-lovely tablecloth.

His hips are pushing into Otabek’s hand, and cum that isn't strewn across the tablecloth is dripping onto him, and Yuri is tightening around him, practically pulling the orgasm from Otabek. And moments later Otabek is coming inside him too. He grips his hips firm and rough, dragging Yuri around is cock as he gasps there, limp.

“ _Yuri_.” Otabek sinks low, so his head is leaning against Yuri’s back. Yuri barely has himself propped up.

Otabek wraps arms around his torso and pushes Yuri’s shirt up more. He kisses newly exposed skin, then presses his forehead down. Together they catch their breath.

That was so fucking hot. Otabek forgot he could get that horny beyond the bedroom, forgot that being wild with Yuri was what had once defined them.

Yuri was so beautiful and graceful and lithe, and Otabek was given that all to care for. To make feel good, to keep healthy.

“I love you,” he mutters against Yuri’s skin. The words are almost inaudible.

“Mmm?” Yuri hums back. Then, “Oh, yeah. Love you too.” There’s a smile in his voice. Otabek’s heart is another type of thrum.

They lay there another minute.

And Otabek doesn’t want to be the one to say it. He really, really doesn’t.

But he has to.

“Yuri...” He pauses, sighs. “They’re gonna be here in ten minutes.”

There’s silence. Then Yuri trembles some, then he’s laughing. Shaking with laughter. Otabek finally pulls out, and hell they’ve made a mess - but Yuri takes it as an incentive to turn around. He holds onto Otabek to keep himself steady as he keeps laughing.

“What?” Otabek asks. He glances the clock.

“I just - I know!” Yuri shakes his head. “I came on the table. We aren’t even dressed. There’s broken glass on the floor.”

Otabek laughs too then, albeit briefly, because Yuri’s laughs and musings are too precious to miss.

“Yeah,” he says. They press their foreheads together, smiling. He repeats, “Yeah. But we will be okay... we’ll hurry, or just lock them out until we are ready.”

Yuri scrunches his nose up. Otabek’s heart flips.

“We’re stupid,” Yuri tells him. “And reckless.”

Otabek nods and laces their fingers.

“Yeah. That’s us.”

**Author's Note:**

> (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ  
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